


A Field Guide to Reading Moon Runes

by Sans_Souci



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Crack, Humor, M/M, Magical Tattoos, Maps, Mental Health Issues, Mentions of Thorin's Hereditary Issues, Other, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 20:29:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1111174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sans_Souci/pseuds/Sans_Souci
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the kinkmeme. Thorin's map is not drawn on paper but a tattoo. Three guesses where it is located and the first two don't count.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Field Guide to Reading Moon Runes

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [月之文字的解讀指南(A Field Guide to Reading Moon Runes)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3525362) by [salicylate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/salicylate/pseuds/salicylate)



> For this prompt: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/6263.html?thread=15166071#t15166071
> 
>  
> 
> _SO the map Thorin carries around isn't on paper...it's tattooed on his butt._
> 
>  
> 
> _Moon runes indeed, amirite?_
> 
>  
> 
> And I was like, stoppit, no, I wants it so bad~ (Yes, I am a fan of terrible puns and horrible innuendo.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_What Happens in Bree . . ._

After getting lost twice and almost turning back west again, Thorin Oakenshield finally managed to make it to Bree and the inn that was recommended in Glorfindel’s Guide to Eriador (Third Edition). The fact that it was the _only_ inn in Bree had not stopped people from raving about it.

The Prancing Pony inn and tavern had dwarf and hobbit-sized accommodations. This was in part to do with the desire to earn as much money as possible and Thorin could not begrudge the inn-keepers their wily economies as he tucked into a pint of porter and hunks of fresh bread.

But he certainly felt a certain amount of hostility towards the men who were obviously looking for a fight. What did a dwarf need to do to have a quiet meal around here anyway?

Another tall shadow fell across his table and the men backed off. “Don’t mind if I share a table?” the grey figure asked. Thorin recognised him from rumour and hearsay as Gandalf the Grey or “Staff-Man”. He had some prowess with the staff. Or if the more scurrilous rumours had it, “staff” was merely an euphemism for his hammer. Which was the dwarrow euphemism for “dick”.

The wizard loomed over Thorin. Mainly because he was tall and Thorin was, if you did not know, a dwarf.

“I’ve heard of you,” Thorin said levelly, conveniently not mentioning any of the context in which he had heard those rumours.

“I was seeking you as well, Thorin son of Thrain.” The wizard ordered some food and drink to blend in. Thorin hoped that he would not have to pick up the tab for that as well.

“What for?”

“Well, there’s a price on your head and another price for the rest of your body.” The face behind the bushy beard peered at him shrewdly. “I’ve heard about a certain map from your father . . .”

“What?” Thorin almost jumped up there and then. “You’ve met my father?”

“Yes, he was on his last legs and not quite lucid, if you get my meaning. I was almost certain that he was not in his right mind at the time when he mentioned the location of the map. But the main gist of it was . . . well, the map is with you at all times.”

Thorin scowled. “So you _have_ met my father.”

“I will need to see the map,” Gandalf said. “Shall we repair upstairs to a more private location?”

“You know about the tattoo,” the dwarf said with what could have been a grimace or a really testy smile that was not a smile at all. “Dammit.”

“We shall see,” Gandalf said, passing a handful of coins over the counter to the innkeeper. “A room for the night, for myself and my friend.”

Some of the usual patrons grinned at each other knowingly at this.

“That Gandalf, always looking for ways to get dwarves to drop their pants!” they whispered over their beer. “Lost map, my arse!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_. . . Thror Had Issues_

For the one millionth time, Thorin cursed his father and his grandfather’s need for secrecy when both of them had been, honestly speaking, several lodes short of a workable mineshaft.

Going into exile in Dunland, he had agreed to. Going back to the anvil, he had agreed to. _This_ he had never agreed to. But he had been a dutiful son to the end.

And he had endured it all for them. Dís and Frerin had laughed for a week. While Thorin was pleased that his family could find joy in something once again, _this_ had not been how he had envisioned his role in it.

_“It’s not going to make you any less lost if it’s all the way down there!” his sister had managed to say between chortling and crying with laughter._

After all these centuries, the damned thing was finally going to be _useful_ at least, Thorin thought as he stomped down the lane in a temper.

Now where the damned Shire was this place called _Bag End_?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Bilbo Baggins and the Dwarven Map_

“I’m quite all right, thank you,” Bilbo said for the tenth time after Gandalf or one of the dwarves asked him if he was all right after swooning the way he did. He was sitting down in his favourite chair and having a cup of chamomile tea to calm his nerves after the initial shock that had caused him to faint.

And everyone--every confounded dwarf and wizard that had barged into his hobbit hole--seemed perfectly all right with it too!

But Bilbo thought that a hobbit had every right to faint when a dwarf king walks into his home and drops his breeks at the dining table when some daft old wizard mentions something about a map.

The map, as it was, had been situated in . . . situated on . . . Bilbo felt himself turning a warm shade of pink as he thought about just where the map was located. Thorin’s father and grandfather had been--well, they had certainly hidden their map where no-one would think to look!

Bilbo risked a peek around the side of his armchair and ducked back down again as he caught sight of the going-ons in his dining room. What would people think? What would the neighbours say if they knew about the trouser-less dwarf king showing a dozen other dwarves and one wizard the very interesting tattoo on his . . . bum?

It was a rather nice bum, Bilbo thought before squashing all thoughts of Thorin Oakenshield’s wonderfully firm arse. He was not thinking about it, no . . .

“Bilbo, this concerns you as well,” Gandalf said. “Won’t you join us?”

“If he’s to be our Burglar, then he ought to know what he’s in for,” Bofur chipped in. He might as well be talking about tea and crumpets instead of a map with the legend “Here of old was Thror, King Under the Mountain” tattooed on the firm ass cheeks of--

_Erm . . ._

“Master Hobbit! I cannot stand half-naked in your dining room all evening!”

“You can’t?” Bilbo almost blurted out before he caught himself and cleared his throat in a business-like fashion.

Well, if he absolutely _had_ to . . .

Later, Bilbo could, in all honesty, say that he had followed a map to the Lonely Mountain.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Mooning About in Rivendell_

“For goodness’ sake, Thorin! Show him the map!” Gandalf urged as they stood in the elf lord’s study. “We have come all this way after all!”

“This is ludicrous! We have never needed the help of elves!” Thorin hissed. If Lord Elrond was perturbed by Thorin’s rudeness, he had not expressed any displeasure in the past five hours in which the dwarf had been a most ungracious guest.

“Save me from the stubbornness of dwarves!” Gandalf exclaimed. “Lord Elrond is one of the few people on Middle-earth who can read the map!”

Bilbo understood Thorin’s reluctance _completely_. It was one thing to show the map to twelve of his own people, his host and one dodgy wizard in Bilbo’s dining room, but in the stately home of an elf lord?

After much cajoling, Thorin acquiesced with poor grace.

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” Elrond muttered as he bent down to take a closer look. “Ah, invisible moon-runes--Thror had a sense of humour. Unlike some people I could name.”

Bilbo clapped his hand over his mouth so that he would not laugh out loud.

“Can you read them?” Thorin demanded impatiently.

“Yes, but only by the light of the moon by which they were written by,” the elven lord said.

“What are moon-runes? Asides from the obvious?” Bilbo dared to ask.

“They are runes written with bespoke silver pens and a special ink perfected by dwarves.” Elrond coughed. “The ink can be used for tattoos, apparently.”

“Faugh! It didn’t half itch!” Thorin griped.

“Fate is with you, Thorin Oakenshield,” Elrond said, pretending not to notice. “A full moon shines on us tonight. The runes can be read using moonlight.”

And it just so happened that the elves had an observatory of sorts to view the full moon.

“Oi, when did you last cut your fingernails?” Thorin grumbled from where he lay draped over the crystal shard that seemed to absorb the moon light.

Elrond absolutely did not roll his eyes as he traced the faint lines that revealed themselves under the light of the moon. “Well it appears that there are runes here . . . Eh, someone get me a piece of paper, I’ll write this down.”

“It’s effing freezing up there--hey, where are you putting that finger?” Thorin protested.

“I’ve got some paper,” Bilbo offered.

“Bilbo, what are you doing here?” Balin asked quizzically. “You’ve already seen the map.”

“Um . . . Spiritual support?” Bilbo said. “Audience point of view an added bonus?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_At Beorn’s House_

“Why do the orcs desire your head? And the rest of you as well?” the great skinchanger asked.

“None of your business” was on the tip of Thorin’s tongue, but Beorn was taller than Azog by a head and possibly even more of a berserker in his bear-form. Gandalf, as usual, was being a dick about things and not interfering.

“Revenge,” Thorin muttered. “And treasure.”

“You have no treasure on you.”

“Treasure map.” His voice went an octave lower and Bilbo shivered involuntarily.

“Oh, so that’s what it is,” Beorn said, looking over to the goats and dogs. “They said they saw something when you went to the privy--”

“Your animals are pervy,” Ori squeaked, just so that his name could be added to the fic tags.

“Just a little more intelligent.” And no-one was going to argue with a seven-foot tall skin-changer about that.

“I knew dwarves were greedy little shits,” Beorn said, shaking his shaggy head. “But that is really strange.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Lost in Mirkwood_

“Sire?” Tauriel melted out of the shadows as quietly as an elf could. And that was pretty damn quietly.

“Tauriel,” Thranduil acknowledged her presence. “Have our guests been bathed and fed?”

There was nothing quite as bad as unwashed dwarves. Except for unwashed dwarves who crashed his party and refused to tell him why they were trespassing in his forest.

“Yes, and they will be better once the effects of the spider venom passes, but . . .”

Thranduil raised an elegant eyebrow. “ _But_?”

“You might want to see this, Sire.”

The Elvenking raised his other eyebrow, but Tauriel’s instincts were seldom wrong.

“There.” She indicated the interior of the bathing room where Thorin Oakenshield was majestically trying to be stoic as he was scrubbed by elven attendants.

“. . . Thror had issues,” Thranduil said at last.

“Don’t talk about my grandfather like that!” Thorin bellowed over the bath foam.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Bonus with the Raindrops on Roses and Whiskers on Kittens Ending_

Bilbo Baggins woke up from a bump on his noggin to discover that the battle was over and someone had bandaged his head. A rather anticlimactic end to his adventure, but at least he did not have to fight.

“Thorin? Balin? Ori? Someone?” he asked.

“All still alive, amazingly enough,” Tauriel said, still carrying the load of being a magical healer, a one-elf killing machine and the only strong female character with more than three lines all at once. “He’s asking for you. The new King Under the Mountain.”

On his way to see Thorin, Bilbo was filled in on what he missed. King Thranduil had mustered his best healers to see to the King and his heirs. Having the next King Under the Mountain beholden to him was no bad thing. He was probably expecting payment in pretty jewellery soon. The people of Laketown would get their share and Bilbo felt just a little less guilty for his part in the whole mess.

“I was wrong again, but I can apologise to you in person, at least,” Thorin said magnanimously from under a pile of bandages in his own tent. “For all the ill words that passed between us at the Gate.”

“And the violence that looked disturbingly like domestic violence?”

“That too. I have . . . these issues. It’s probably hereditary,” Thorin said. “I understand completely if being with a violent, greedy and possibly over-possessive dwarf isn’t you cup of tea . . .”

“Um, well, we can work on those problems. And I wouldn’t mind seeing the map again,” Bilbo said, looking down at his feet sheepishly before looking up at the king. “In _private_.”

Thranduil mentally pouted as everyone within earshot cheered because he had wanted to see the map again as well. In his private capacity as a healer. 

Well, he would just have to check on Thorin’s wounds more often then . . .

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Extra Bonus Epilogue_

“We’re airing the rooms out today, Frodo. Bilbo’s probably going to reach Hobbiton by tea-time.” Hamfast Gamgee was the caretaker of Bag End. He also served as guardian to Frodo Baggins and kept the smial neat and tidy for the winter months when the owner would return to spend time in the Shire and confound the Sackville-Bagginses.

They did not have long to wait, for a figure was soon seen tramping up the path to Bag End.

“Gaffer! Frodo!” White-haired and currently in the running for the longest-lived hobbit ever, Bilbo Baggins was remarkably spry and still went on walking holidays. He was currently retired and living in Rivendell, but he tended to enjoy the warmer climate of the Shire and confounding the Sackville-Bagginses.

Over tea, Frodo and Gaffer got an earful of how awful the roads were at this time of the year, but at least Frodo also got to hear about his uncle-cousin’s travels.

“You’re going to make a map of your travels, aren’t you?” Frodo asked. “Just like the one you followed to the Lonely Mountain?”

“Oh yes, I sort of kept that map too,” Bilbo said absently as he kept his ears open for the sound of boots on the front step.

“Show me the map, please!”

“Well, perhaps when you are older,” Bilbo said, rising to go open the door. “You’re late. Got lost again?”

“I don’t understand why you hobbits don’t put up proper signposts,” Thorin grumbled as he stomped in with his heavy packs.

“There _are_ signposts--you just don’t look out for them!” Bilbo then clucked over the mud that the dwarf was tracking in, how he was not taking care of his bad leg and would he just visit Rivendell for once instead of staying in Bree. 

Frodo had seen this argument occur annually for the past few years when Bilbo and Thorin came back to Bag End for their vacation. He wondered how much older he would have to be to see the map though.

In fact, Frodo had to wait for his coming of age before Bilbo told him where the map to the Lonely Mountain was located. It was roughly around the same time when Bilbo told Frodo that he had a map of Eriador tattooed on himself. In a very specific location.

“Just so that Thorin has something for reference,” Bilbo said fondly.

“I really don’t want to hear about your tattoo shenanigans with Thorin,” Frodo said, desperately wishing that he had never asked about the maps and that he had purchased stock options in brain bleach earlier.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


End file.
